


Over the Hills and Far Away

by wildcursive



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Aftermath - Chuck Wendig
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deception, F/F, Pregnancy, Read note at the beginning for more info on what???? and why???, brief discussion of infertility, discussions of deception and dubious consent, fairy tale AU, kind of?, more of talking about fairy tales au tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 12:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10360497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcursive/pseuds/wildcursive
Summary: Annabelle's life in the castle had never been her own fairy tale. Then the King swept her off her feet. Then the Queen's visits began.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beanwhile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanwhile/gifts).



> Hello and welcome! This is very strange and daunting to me, because this fic like nothing I've written before. First of all, it was written for [bjomolf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bjomolf), without whom it would not exist. This whole thing started when she came up with the name Annabelle and started the headcanon exchange about her and Maratelle as Hux's two moms (Brendol who?), where my idea came from. With how little there is about Maratelle and "the Kitchen Woman" in canon, these two are practically her OCs, which I'm borrowing. I originally wrote this for Femslash February and sent her the first very rough version just in time for it, but ended up not really happy with how it turned out. So here's the second improved one, which I hope is better. Still, it's unbetaed, so any and all mistakes are mine.  
> Enjoy!

A long time ago in a land far, far away there was a castle. There always was a castle in the stories, Anna would often muse, so it was only natural there would be one in hers. It wasn’t even only the castle, her life had always seemed to resemble the beginning of the stories she had been told a s a child. Orphaned at a young age she had been sent to a distant relative, who in turn had soon sent her to the King's castle, both to give her a chance at something better than a hut in a remote village and likely because he had neither the means, nor the desire to care for her. This was usually the beginning of most tales, wasn't it? Sometimes instead of losing her parents, the protagonist would be taken away or cursed by an evil witch, but they all ended in the same way - with a valiant prince, who would rescue her and make her his wife to rule their kingdom together and live happily ever after. Anna had no delusions of being the protagonist, however. She was stuck in someone else’s story, just as she was stuck inside this castle. And even with that, she had always known little not only outside of it, but also of what was behind the gray stone of its walls, for she had been just a kitchen maid and there were many places in a castle where she would not be allowed.

Now, however, she was a simple maid no longer. One seemingly ordinary evening everything had changed. A serving girl had been sick with a fever and the cook had set Anna to deliver the King and Queen their meals. _Let it be known that King Brendol is nothing if not observant,_ she thought grudgingly, for the King had noticed her face was unfamiliar as soon as she had entered the dining room, even in its dim lights. This had happened only several short months ago but to Anna it felt like ages, like it hadn’t been her, but a different person who had fallen for the King's deception. It all seemed obvious in hindsight. The cool regard during the first few meals she had brought while the other girl was recovering should have been her first clue - the King never paid attention, however meagre, to people beneath him, unless he wanted something, she had been told. Soon there had been a mysterious change in her tasks, making her current duties permanent. Then came more and more chance encounters with the King in rooms and hallways which he had never frequented before, each time his expression warmer - or as warm as King Brendol could be - more and more and more words spared in her direction. Stolen touches and kisses had come next, an experience so new, that it had enchanted her, blinded her. It had seemed like her one chance to shine, to have her own story outside the role of invisible kitchen maid, to be the King’s beloved and it had fooled her.

*** 

Now here she was, just over half a year after that one night – a maid no longer. And even if the people of Arkanis would never learn of her, she was the woman carrying the heir to the throne. Her room was dim in the faint candlelight, but she could see clearly – this had been his goal and her supposed purpose all along. Her pregnancy had been discovered only a few short weeks ago, but according to the royal physician, she was already past its first half. The King, of course, had seen fit to almost immediately announce the joyous news to the masses. The kingdom would finally have an heir and nobody would know of the child’s illegitimacy. As far as the people, and most of the castle’s inhabitants too, were concerned, the Queen was the one who could already feel the swelling of her belly underneath rich, flowing gowns, not her – the simple commoner put under lock and key in the Northern wing - the King’s best-kept secret, his hidden treasure. And, when in a few months’ time she would have given birth, no one would stop to wonder whether the heir to the throne’s fiery locks were inherited only from the King.

It was yet another night she was spending alone in these quarters. The King himself had had them picked for her and it showed – her bed could fit the small cot she had slept on all her life at least three times and the sheets and covers were softer than anything she had touched before, their color a deep amber. Just like her hair, the King had said. The sight had been captivating at first, a whole room, as big as the kitchens, the walls the floors all in soft colors and beautiful in the candlelight. But the splendor had worn off quickly when she was told this room was her life now. Only a select few of the castle’s inhabitants knew of the King’s ploy and she could not be seen by the rest, so she spent her days confined to her quarters, allowed only an hour or two of respite in the garden each day and never unassisted. She had maids of her own now, who would bring her food and clean instead of her, empty her chamber pot and escort her on her walks, and the court physician also visited her daily. The King, however, did not. In fact, he had visited her only one time - on that first evening when she had been shown to her new quarters he had entered without knocking, asked her how she liked them without really looking at her, and left soon with few words spared. She was restless, feeling like a caged animal with little to do but muse at her own stupidity, but even that was already proving repetitive. Her last resort was embroidery and Anna was just considering another stab at it when she heard a soft knock on the door. 

*** 

Queen Maratelle of Arkanis was to the commoner an elusive figure that had always been shrouded in mystery. She had come from a faraway kingdom that, if people were to be believed, was as different from Arkanis as night was from the day. The stories told of lands warmed by the sun’s rays all year long, untouched by the months and months of snow that Arkanis knew. People whispered of magic and wonder, of prosperity brought by them, but in the castle such talk was forbidden. For King Brendol there existed no magic – not it Arkanis and not anywhere else. Still, the rumors remained and the Queen had been regarded as more of a myth than a person from the moment the people had heard of her. Everybody remembered the first time they saw her at the royal wedding, Anna herself included. Maratelle had looked almost ethereal standing next to the king during their vows, her dress exquisite, a long fur coat draped over her shoulders and reaching the ground, everything in white, except for the black of her hair. She had stood proud and regal, every move that was required of her performed with such grace, that Anna herself had wondered if there was something magical about the Queen.  From then on Maratelle had dutifully performed all her royal duties as required, but still remained a mystery to many . Even inside the castle she seemed more a myth, an apparition, attended only by her few trusted servants and frequenting parts of it that were off limits to most. Before being sent to serve that first meal, Annabelle had only managed to spot the Queen around the halls a dozen times at most, but each glance she had been able to get was near unforgettable, rivaling that first one. Maratelle’s shock of black hair remained always pinned up in an intricate manner. Her features were strong and always schooled in a mask of seriousness, her posture straight, her gait royal and probably additionally restrained by the beautiful gowns she was always wearing, even inside the palace. What color were her eyes, what did her smile look like? How would her hair look if left to flow freely over her back and shoulders? Would it fall straight like a river or curl in an unruly manner, not befitting a royalty? Such questions often occupied Anna’s mind, for the life of a maid was not an exciting one, filled with manual tasks that left one with much time to get lost in thought. She had never shared these questions with anyone, it had not been befitting of her lowly station to search for the answers to them and she had never thought she would speak to the Queen herself directly.

That too had changed when the King had learned of her pregnancy. One evening soon after she had been relocated to the Northern wing and the endless nights of boredom and restlessness had begun, a knock had sounded on her door. Anna, thinking it was just one of her maids had called for her to enter, but the heavy wooden door had revealed the Queen herself.

“Your Grace,” Anna had almost squeaked, scrambling to get up for a proper greeting.

“Annabelle, is it?” Maratelle’s voice had been level, but amicable. “May I sit?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” she had answered automatically, still unsure of the reality of the situation.

“You may also resume your seat.” The Queen had waited for her to do so before continuing. “I understand the two of us are to become quite well acquainted by virtue of my husband’s… far from virtuous act.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Anna could then see the Queen eyes were a dark blue, illuminated as they were by the candlelight. That had been her first question answered.

It had also been the start of the Queen’s regular visits, for she was to know everything about the pregnancy, as it was supposedly her own. Anna selfishly enjoyed her presence. Maratelle, seemed not so interested in the child as in Annabelle herself. Then again, Anna thought, it was only natural, if she was to emulate her condition in front of the public. However, the Queen would also often ask about her life before in the kitchens and would sometimes even regale her with details of her own - tidbits just small enough to not be of consequence, but still enough to make her feel special, like a confidant.

*** 

On this particular night the Queen seemed to notice her restlessness and, after going through the usual questions about any new symptoms or moods she was supposed to emulate, looked around the room to the shelves on the walls.

“There are only a handful of books in here, all on cooking and housekeeping, from what I can see. I would have thought you’d prefer not so mundane reads.”

“I wouldn’t know, Your Grace… They were in the room when I arrived and I’ve never learned how to read.” Anna knew it was not surprising for someone of her previous station, but she felt ashamed at the admission anyways. 

“Of course, forgive me.” A minute frown passed swiftly over the Queen’s face. “But that will not do, you must have been dying of boredom here. I know my husband only lets you out for walks in the gardens and never alone like… like you’re some pet, a songbird in a cage,” she added, letting some distaste show before schooling her features back into their usual neutrality. “I can’t imagine embroidery keeps being relaxing after a month.”

“It doesn’t, Your Grace,” answered Anna, eyes still trained on the floor before the Queen’s feet.           

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, Anna.” It was the first time the Queen was calling her by anything other than her full name and it made something warm spread in her chest. “It is our standing that determines our opportunities and yours has never afforded you this one.” There was a note in Maratelle’s voice that made Anna look up and into her eyes, where she thought she saw something shine, if just for a second. “I won’t be able to instruct you myself, but I will make sure you have a good teacher. And once you are comfortable I can provide you with some readings, which will hopefully make your days less dull. I will arrange for you to start later this week.” 

With that, the Queen stood up and left, wishing her a good night and leaving Anna stunned, almost unable to answer if not for the years and years of manners drilled into her. The warmth in her chest did not leave until the next morning.

*** 

A week later the Queen hadn’t visited again. Anna had learned all her letters and the most basic numbers and started the hard process of getting used to words. It was agonizingly slow and often infuriating, but she was also feeling invigorated, ready to show the Queen her progress on the next visit, whenever it came. Maratelle usually visited at least once a week. Now, even with most of her attention directed towards her study, Anna couldn’t help but notice the discrepancy and then immediately reprimand herself for thinking she was owed something by the Queen herself.        

Maratelle came back on the ninth night, when Anna had started making her way through the first book she would ever read. It was a children’s tale about a princess locked in a tower and waiting to be rescued by a noble knight.

“I see you’re reading one of my favorite stories from my childhood,” the Queen said in lieu of a greeting, looking at the book Anna had left open in her rush to present a proper greeting. “I used to be a princess locked in a castle, you know, even if that castle was my own home. The story didn’t quite work out for me like that, as I imagine yours also hasn’t led you where you wanted it.” 

As they both sat down, Anna couldn’t help but notice that under the Queen’s matter-of-fact tone there was a gentle sad note.

“No, Your Grace,” she answered, head down and eyes trained on the floor once again.   A hand entered her field of vision and rested on her knee, the touch barely there.

“I think by now we know enough about each other for you to dispense with the ‘Your Grace’s and call me Mara, Anna.”

“I-I’m not sure I could, Your-” Anna managed to stop herself and look up embarrassed, feeling like the warmth of the hand on her knee had managed to reach her cheeks.

“That would do for the moment, I suppose.” Maratelle’s eyes were kind. “I know I am the Queen, Anna, and you used to work in the kitchens, but I feel a certain… kinship with you. I know very well how you felt when Brendol started showing you his affections, because I have received them too. I believed he was my savior from the confines of my old home, that as queen I wouldn’t suffer the limitations of a princess’ life - of being treated like glass and kept safe like a prized possession for my future husband.” She let out a hollow laugh. “I was silly, I know. I can see on your face that you have gone through some not so different reflections yourself,” she added with a knowing look.

“Yes, Y-… Yes,” Anna took a second to regain her composure, the moment too intimate, too demanding. “I thought I was finally the protagonist of my own story, that I could be swept away from my ordinary life by the King, even though I wasn’t a princess.”

“Such is my husband, a strategist till the end, using every resource at his disposal to get what he wants. Do not feel bad for being deceived, he’s been searching for a replacement for me even since he found out I could not bear him an heir. He fooled us both, didn’t he?” Anna heard the Queen’s voice waver and thought she saw tears shining in her eyes. “But enough of that.” The hand left her knee and Maratelle leaned back in her chair. “I didn’t mean to get carried away. Stories are good for us, no matter how intangible, at least they give us hope. You might yet find your knight, Annabelle. Let us see what happens to this princess.” She gestured at the book that lay open on the table next to them.

Anna, managing to swallow around the lump in her throat, picked it up and started slowly going through the words with the Queen’s gentle help. She managed to hold the tears until Maratelle left some hours later.

*** 

The answer to Annabelle’s second question came two weeks after that night. She had made her way through the fairy tale, reading about the princess delivered by her noble knight and replaying The Queen’s words in her head, feeling as hollow as the ending. Maratelle had brought her instead one of her more recent favorites, a book about an adventurer crossing the seas and slaying monsters, which, while harder, was proving much more interesting. They were just starting a new chapter, Anna reading out loud and Mara helping her with unfamiliar words when Anna felt it. A kick. The baby, her baby, the heir to the throne was kicking.

The Queen, having noticed her pause looked up concerned. “Are you well?”

“Yes, Y-” she still couldn’t get herself to use the Queen’s name as requested, but mostly managed to close her mouth before the title slipped out. “I felt him moving.” And before she knew what she was doing, she was grabbing the other woman’s hand and placing it over her own belly. “Can you feel it?”

“I- yes,” and the corners of Maratelle’s lips started lifting up. “The heir to the throne seems strong,” she finished, an unmistakable smile on her lips reflecting the wonder Anna knew was written on her face. She wished she could have seen it during daytime, the light of the candles not bright enough to take it in its full beauty.

*** 

Anna hadn’t been ashamed to admit to herself that she had not felt very motherly up until that moment. The unborn child, up until that first kick, had never felt like her own. It had been only the King’s future heir, an obligation she had been saddled with that just like her duties was not of her choice, even if she had for a short while believed the events that had let to it to be the product of genuine desire.

But then, that previous night, as she had felt him - for she somehow knew it was a him - move, she had found herself thinking of her future child with wonder and excitement. Even more, found herself sharing the moment with Maratelle. A moment that should have felt wrong, for it was fitting of a young couple expecting the birth of their first child, not of a queen who would have to raise this child as hers and a nameless maid who wondered whether the future prince would ever know of her existence.

And yet, it had felt only natural for her to reach out and take the Queen’s hand, like puzzle pieces falling into place. It had been the first time she had felt the birth of this child as a future she expected rather than dreaded.

*** 

That night the Queen returned and took her usual place while Anna was retrieving their new book. She sat down, finding the right page, and started by trying to wrap her tongue around the protagonist’s name, for names always seemed to be the hardest to figure out. When the Queen did not correct any of her several attempts to pronounce it, she lifted her head to check if she was listening, only to be met with a look that seemed way too vulnerable for what she had come to know of Maratelle.

“Did you ever want children Anna?” Maratelle’s voice was gentle, almost cautious as their eyes met.

Not wanting to shatter the tender moment, Anna only nodded silently.

“I myself was never opposed, but also never truly excited by the idea of bearing the future heir to someone’s kingdom, even thought that was supposed to be my life’s purpose. This was of course before my… affliction,” her expression soured, the words obviously not her own “as Brendol prefers to call it, was discovered. It is supposed to be a sad day when you find out that you are unable to fulfil the one duty that’s meant to define your life, but I was mostly unbothered, since it had never been of my own volition.”

How did the Queen always manage to leave her speechless, Anna wondered. How could she bare her deepest secrets like that to a simple servant girl whose only feat in life had been to fall for a simple trick?  

“I would never have wished your fate on my worst enemy,” Mara continued, as if sensing her train of thought. “But I am selfishly grateful to have met you. As I am for this child, Anna,” she said her name with such warmth and conviction that Anna couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. “You must know that I will do, to the best of my ability, what is needed to have him know you. We were not meant to be the writers of our own story in this life, but we can still read between the lines and try to steer its interpretation.”        

Their eyes were still locked, their hands side by side, and for a single moment the gentle warmth of the Queen’s hand covered hers before hastily retracting.

 “I should retire for the evening and leave you to your rest.”

“No,” Anna answered with more confidence than she had ever felt, reaching for other woman’s hand again, with more vigor than probably necessary. “I mean, I would ask you to stay, just for a while longer.”

She felt bold, ready to respond to Maratelle’s admissions with one of her own. So instead of gently tugging at the other woman's hand to have her return to her seat, she changed her grip and used it as support to rise to her full height, the two of them finding themselves standing in front of their chairs, an arm’s length away. It was the first time she had stood face to face with her Queen like this and she realized with delight that she was a good half a head taller. Mara hadn’t moved or spoken, just watched her rise, her head now tilted a bit, eyes never having left Anna’s face.

“Don’t you dare call me 'Your Grace’,” she let out, voice strained as Anna moved to shorten the distance between them.

“May I, still,” she whispered, their faces close enough for each one to feel the warmth of the other’s breath.

Mara’s nod was almost indiscernible but Anna was nothing if not observant, especially when it came to her Queen. Their lips touched gently, almost reverently. Anna felt the hand not clasped in hers come to rest on her cheek, so she lifted her own to the back of the Queen’s neck, just beneath her hairline, to bring her closer.

Her last question didn’t get answered that night. Instead she found out something she would have never dared ask - that the Queen’s lips felt warm and soft and that she could taste sunshine when they lifted up in a smile under her own.

*** 

Time started flying by after that night, when an almost 8-month pregnant Anna found herself kissing her Queen. Suddenly the nights seemed shorter, with hours quickly passing between reading and careful kisses in the candlelight, Maratelle’s visits by now practically a nightly ritual. The child - her child - was kicking more and more often and was perfectly healthy according to the doctor. By the next month, when her walks in the garden were forbidden, she didn’t even have the desire to go out for them. Instead she stayed inside, tearing through Mara’s favorite books, impatiently awaiting the evenings they would spend together and often reading aloud for the sake of her unborn son. Maratelle seemed changed, too. She would sit closer, her hand finding Anna’s more often than not. And she would talk of her past, of hating Arkanis’ snow and of missing the constant warmth of her home, telling Anna how much she would like to take her there and show her.     

Once again Anna allowed herself to hope.

*** 

Two weeks before what would be known as the heir to the throne’s date of birth Maratelle walked into her quarters unusually timid, her posture restrained in a manner Anna hadn’t seen since she had still been a maid scrubbing floors, and her face oddly pale.

“Mara,” the name slipped her lips without thought as she tried to rise from all the pillows propped against her back. “What’s wrong?"

“No, stay,” Mara responded, gentle arms settling over Anna’s shoulders, pushing her back. “Rest. I- your doctor would probably kill me for what I’m going to tell you, but I can’t hide it from you until after the birth it would be too late by then.”

Anxiety threatening to overtake her, Anna gripped her Queen’s hand.

“What is it?”  

“It’s Brendol, he has grown suspicious of us and the time we spent together. He seems to have gone mad with worry that we are planning to hide the prince from him and I fear he has begun planning your removal immediately after the birth.”

Anna’s heart was by then hammering in her chest and she was gripping Maratelle’s left hand with her right as if it was a lifeline.    

“No, don’t,” Mara started, her other hand coming up to Anna’s face to tuck a lock behind her ear and wipe a stray tear. “I am not going to let him do anything to you, to send you away or get his hands on this child, my love,” her voice growing quieter but more determined. “I have already started making arrangements, I still have a few trusted servants both here and in my old home. I will make sure we leave this place and go somewhere he’ll never be able to find us – you, me and this baby.”

“Our baby,” Anna chocked out past the lump in her throat.

 “Our baby,” the Queen agreed. “But I have to leave you now, stop my visits to assuage his suspicions and finish the preparations. You’re so strong, Anna. Please, hold on just a little more.” Mara said, leaning in for a long kiss that felt too much like a goodbye to calm Anna’s heart. With her free hand she tried to stop their separation, bringing her Queen’s forehead to rest against her own for a few moments, breaths and tears mixing. Then she was once more left alone in the stifling confines of the bed.

*** 

Time stopped passing so quickly, weighted down by Anna’s fears and longing. No book managed to distract her long enough and she was grateful for the exhaustion that often overtook her, sleeping through meals and visits by maids, who were now sent to check on her almost constantly.

She didn’t know how late or early it was when she was awoken by the persistent pain. The next time the maid walked in and saw her she rushed off to call the midwife and soon came the excruciating birth of her son. Later, when asked, Mara would tell her she had been in labor for almost a whole day, but Anna herself would only remember heat and sweat, and her own cries of pain until the relief of her son being put in her arms, followed then by the calm darkness of unconsciousness.

*** 

She awoke in a panic, a cry of  'My son’ on her lips, but gentle hands once again found her shoulders, stopping her.

“You’re safe love, our son is safe and well, too. Rest now.”

“Mara?” she asked, her voice hoarse. 

“I’m here, my love.” And the same gentle hands were now holding a cup of water to her parched lips. “Sleep, he can’t find us anymore.”

The next few times she would wake from the cries of her son and feed him with Mara’s gentle help. The first time she managed to come to herself fully she found her love on a chair next to her bed, her back bent, forehead resting on the covers and a hand around Anna’s own. As if having felt her watching, she stirred and lifted her head. Anna noticed it then, her hair was undone. It was straight and so, so long, falling past her shoulders and almost down to her waist. Anna wouldn’t remember until much later that her last question had been given an answer, overcome in that moment with the need to run her hands though the strands. 

“My love, you look well,” Mara whispered, a reverent smile on her lips.

“I love you,” Anna answered, because everything else could wait.

*** 

Later on Maratelle would tell her of Demetra, her confidant in the palace, who had helped them escape unnoticed and of her father’s best general – Sloane, who had always been an even better friend to his daughter and had immediately answered her plea for help. They were in a small hut near the borders of Arkanis that would keep them safe until Anna found herself well enough to travel.

“But how did you arrive so quickly,” Anna would ask, turning to the General. “And how did just one woman manage to get me, the Queen and the Prince away from the castle and its guards?”

“Magic,” the two women would answer in unison and Anna would never know if they had been serious.

*** 

The next morning she awoke, feeling light and rested for the first time in forever. Mara was on the bed next to her and it seemed she had been awake for some time, watching her sleep.

“I was thinking, - she said. “From here on we can write our own story, the two of us and” Maratelle stopped, looking over to the baby’s cot.

“Armitage,” Anna finished – the name she had decided on during those endless weeks of loneliness and worry.

“The two of us and Armitage it is then,” Mara answered with a smile and let herself be tugged into the arms of her lover.

Anna tightened her arms around Mara, and closed her eyes again feeling safe and warm. The fairy tales really had it wrong, she thought before drifting off, she would never need a knight in shining armor when she had her Queen.

***

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Come yell at me on tumblr @[arohawke](http://aro-hawke.tumblr.com) if you would like to.


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